Rosie Swanson: Fourth-Grade Geek for President (10 page)

After we nodded again, he swiveled his chair around to face Summer Lynne Jones.

“Okay, Miss Jones. I’m going to ask you first. Did you have anything at all to do with the note I just read?”

“No,” said Summer. “I didn’t. I promise, Mr. Shivers. I promise, I promise, I prom—”

Mr. Shivers held up his hand to cut her off.
“Good, Fine. Thank you,” he said.

Next, he turned to Maxie. “Same question, Mr. Zuckerman. Did you have anything at all to do with the note I—”

“No,” interrupted Maxie. “No, no, no, no, no.”

When Mr. Shivers got to Earl, his face softened a little. “How ’bout you, Earl? Do you know anything about that note?”

Earl dabbed at the sweat on his face with his shirt sleeve. His voice cracked when he said, “No.”

All of sudden, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. “I don’t understand this, Mr. Shivers,” I blurted. “Who cares who wrote the note? Alan’s the one who stole the soccer ball, right? Isn’t
that
what we should be talking about? I mean, if someone robs a bank and a reporter writes about it, the reporter shouldn’t get blamed for spreading the word. It’s the crook who should be in trouble.”

Alan jumped up again. “But I’m
not
a crook! Just because I took a soccer ball from Mort’s Sports Store doesn’t make me a crook. I was only in first grade when that happened. That’s practically a baby! You can’t blame a person for something he did when he was six! And besides, I
didn’t even get to the car before my dad saw it under my shirt, and he made me take it back.”

Alan was so upset he was crying, practically. It kind of surprised me, if you want to know the truth. I just hadn’t expected him to almost cry, that’s all.

I turned my head and tried not to look at him.

Mr. Shivers narrowed his eyes at me.

“Was it you, Rosie?” he asked at last. “Hmm? Were you the one who wrote the notes?”

By now, I was so mixed up I didn’t know what to do. All I’d done was tell the truth. And now
I
was the one in trouble. Since when was being a truthful person such a terrible thing?

Nervously, I pulled at my collar and tried to see the note on the desk. “Well, um, just for the record, I’m not the type of girl who usually dots my
i
’s with hearts.”

Mr. Shivers closed his eyes.

“Yes or no?”

Stalling for time, I leaned down and pretended to dust off my shoes.

Alan blew his nose.

Quietly, I said, “Yes.”

That afternoon, when I came in from lunch recess, it was written all over the board:

The news spread like wildfire.

10
THE SECOND
TUESDAY IN
NOVEMBER

Maxie and Earl didn’t wait for me after school. I walked home by myself. On the way, three of Alan Allen’s friends rode past me on their bikes and shouted, “Yo, snitch! Hi, snitch! How ya doin’, snitchy snitch?”

I blinked back the tears. Then I cupped my hands around my mouth. “I know you are, but what am I?”

The boys mimicked me. “
I know you are, but what am I? I know you are, but what am I?
” they said in high, screechy voices.

I stuck out my tongue. Sometimes sticking out your tongue is the only insult you have left.

Face it, Rosie, I said to myself. Your campaign is done for. No one will vote for you now. Not anyone.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture myself
with my bullhorn and golden crown, but nothing happened at all.

As soon as Alan’s friends had ridden off, I ran home. It was one of those times when I really needed my mother. I’m not a baby or anything, but sometimes just knowing she’s there makes me feel better about stuff. Safer or something, I guess you’d say.

I hurried into the house and slammed the door behind me. “Mom?” I called. “Mom? Are you home?”

“Hi, sweetie,” said a voice. It wasn’t my mother’s voice, though. It belonged to my babysitter, Mrs. Rosen from Next Door. That’s exactly what she calls herself, too. “Mrs. Rosen from Next Door.” When I was little, I used to think it was her name.

“It’s Mrs. Rosen from Next Door,” she yelled from the kitchen. “I’m in the kitchen, Rosie. How ’bout some Oreos and milk?”

That’s mostly what Mrs. Rosen from Next Door does when she baby-sits. She sits in the kitchen, watches the TV on the counter, and eats Oreos.

I like Mrs. Rosen from Next Door. But when the whole world hates your guts, it takes more than a cookie to make it better.

I almost started to cry again. Instead, I ran straight upstairs and called Maxie. I knew he was mad at me. But he was still my friend and I needed him.

Mrs. Zuckerman answered the phone. “It’s for you, Max!” she shouted. He must have asked who it was because his mother screamed, “I think it’s Rosie!” right in my ear.

After that, I waited and waited, but Maxie never said “Hello.” I thought I heard him breathing once. But when I said his name, he didn’t answer.

“Maxie? Come on.
Please
. Say something,” I said.

I heard a click. Then the dial tone.

That’s when I finally started to cry.

The next morning, when I got to Maxie’s house, Earl was sitting on the porch step.

“Hi,” I said as I walked up.

Earl lowered his head and mumbled, “H’lo.” I knew he was still upset about his trip to the
principal’s office, but at least he was still speaking to me.

Earl kept his head down and stared at his shoes. He untied them, tied them, and untied them again.

After a second, I heard a noise. I looked up. Maxie was standing in his doorway glaring down at me. When he finally came outside, he walked straight down the stairs and kept on going. It was clear that he didn’t want to talk to me.

Earl jumped up and followed him. His shoes were still untied but he kept on walking.

At first it almost made me cry again. But pretty soon, I started to get mad. What was wrong with them, anyway?
I
was the one who was in trouble at school, not them. And besides, hadn’t I forgiven them when they’d blabbed out all my campaign secrets?

“Hey. Come on, you guys! Why are you acting like this? You’re not being very good friends, you know.”

Maxie stopped in his tracks and threw his head back. “Ha! That’s a good one, isn’t it, Earl?” he said sarcastically. “You and I spend the afternoon
in the principal’s office because of you-know-who, and
we’re
the ones who aren’t being good friends. Ha!”

He whispered something in Earl’s ear.

Earl turned around and cleared his throat. “Maxie says that you’re the one who doesn’t know anything about friendship, Rosie. You’re the one who almost got us blamed for something we didn’t do.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. But all I did was tell the truth about Alan. That’s all I did. And besides, I’m the one who everybody hates, not you two.”

Maxie did another loud “Ha!” and whispered something else.

Earl turned to face me again. “Maxie says if you’re the one they hate, then why did he and I get hit with water balloons on our way home from school yesterday?”

Maxie couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Yeah! And ask her who crank-called my house last night and wanted to know if the dirty little pipsqueak squealer was home. Go ahead, Earl. Ask her that one!”

Earl took a deep breath. “Maxie would also
like to know who called his house last night and asked if the dirty little pipsqueak—”

He tried to finish, but he started to laugh.

Maxie gave him a shove. “It’s not funny, Earl,” he growled. “I told Rosie all that stuff about Alan Allen and the soccer ball ‘in confidence.’ Ask her if she knows what ‘in confidence’ means. Because for her information, ‘in confidence’ means that you trust somebody not to tell.”

Maxie frowned at me. “You had no right to do that, Rosie! I get picked on enough as it is without having people think I wrote that note. And also, just in case you haven’t figured it out yet, you also screwed up your whole election. Who’s going to vote for you now? Huh? Who the heck is going to vote for a snitch?”

The way he said “snitch” made me feel dirty, sort of. Like I was a criminal.

“I’m sorry, Max. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I told him.

My eyes started to fill up again.

When Earl saw what was happening, he ripped off a piece of his lunch sack for me to wipe them with.

After that, all of us started to walk. We didn’t talk anymore, though. Not about anything.

When we finally got there, the bell was already ringing. I reached for the door.

Maxie put his hand on my shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be okay,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble, Maxie. All I did was—”

Maxie held up his hand. “I know, Rosie. I know,” he said. “All you did was tell the truth.”

On the morning of the election, the candidates gathered in Mrs. Munson’s room before the assembly. Everybody looked really nervous. We were supposed to be reading over our speeches and stuff, but mostly all we could do was fidget around.

Alan Allen asked Mrs. Munson if he could give the first president’s speech so he could get it over with. Summer Lynne Jones asked to go last.

I asked to go home.

Mrs. Munson said no.

Finally, we all marched into the media center together. Just like before, the candidates for president
were the last to speak. It seemed to take forever before they got to us, too. But when Alan Allen’s turn finally came, he stood up slowly and waited for everyone to get totally quiet. Then he walked to the microphone and began.

“My name is Alan Allen,” he said. “And I’m running for president of the fourth grade.

“Most of you already know me. I’ve gone to this school since kindergarten, so I think you know what kind of person I am. I guess if I had to describe myself, I’d say that I’m a good soccer player. And I’d say that I’m honest, too. I don’t care what you’ve heard, either. Because I am.”

He glanced over at me, then back again. “There’s a rumor going around about how I stole a soccer ball one time,” he said. “And I’m not saying it’s a lie, okay? Only what you probably don’t know is that it happened when I was in first grade. I was only six years old. And even though certain people might not understand this, I did a lot of stuff when I was a little kid that I wouldn’t do now.

“Like my mother says I used to scream in restaurants and rub crackers in my hair and junk. And one time when I was in a grocery store, I
opened a box of animal crackers, ate a lion, and then put the box back on the shelf. But that doesn’t mean I’d do it now. ’Cause that would be stupid. Just like stealing is stupid.

“And so I guess I’d just like to say that if you elect me president of the fourth grade, I promise not to do anything stupid. And I’ll be fair. And I’ll be honest. And oh yeah … I won’t rub crackers in my hair at lunch. Because even though certain people don’t understand this, I’m not six years old anymore.”

There was lots of clapping when he sat down. It lasted longer than I expected, too. Long enough for Alan to do two extra bows.

By then, my knees were shaking like crazy and I felt weaker than anything. I still don’t know how I made it to the microphone. But somehow I did.

Finally, I took a couple of deep breaths and started my speech.

“Hi. My name is Rosie Swanson, and as you probably know, I’m not one of the popular kids. Mostly, I’m just a regular, average girl. But in a way, that’s sort of what made my campaign different. Because you almost never see a regular, average
kid running for office. And I don’t really get that at all, you know? Because not being popular doesn’t mean that you’re stupid or anything.

“I mean, personally, I have lots of neat ideas about how to make school a better place. Like I know you’ve seen my funny posters about the cafeteria food around here. But I have an actual plan about how we can organize a committee to go talk to Mrs. Gumm, the head cafeteria lady. And how we can make lists of all the foods we really hate. And how we can make other lists of all the foods we’d really like to see on the weekly menus and stuff.

“I’ve had all of these ideas for a long time. But I didn’t say anything because I was afraid they would be stolen. That’s one thing I’ve learned about politics. If you have a really good idea, it’s okay for somebody else to take it.